Comfort
by Gracie
Summary: Whatever happened to Borg Kid #5? (Missing scene from "Collective.")


TITLE: Comfort  
  
AUTHOR: Gracie Kay  
  
DISCLAIMER: How dare you folks hail Paramount as a god? Boo ... Okay, none of these characters belong to me. Too bad--I'd definitely change some things. : )  
  
FEEDBACK: Love it, especially when it goes beyond "I hate it" or "I like it." TELL ME WHY!!   
  
ITALICS: When your own ignorance dooms you to Notepad . . . sigh. An asterisk (*) denotes italics, for both emphasis and characters' thoughts. For emphasis within a thought, I'll just use the underscore (_). (This has been a public service announcement by Gracie Kay. Thanks for your patience, now on with the story! : )  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Whatever happened to Borg Kid # 5? Yeah, you know--the infant who was beamed aboard *Voyager* in "Collective"? You mean you *forgot* about her? Oh, well, that's okay. The writers did, too. But I didn't. : ) This isn't meant to be a full-length story, just a filling in of the blanks regarding (drumroll) BORG KID NUMBER FIVE.   
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Seven of Nine entered sickbay uncertain what to expect. The Doctor had just called her over the comm system and had sounded urgent, but had been unwilling to elaborate on why he wanted her in sickbay. She stepped up to the biobed where he was working and raised her eyebrows.   
  
"The Borg infant," she said, gazing down at it. It had been thirteen hours since the Borg children had come aboard Voyager, and during that time the infant had been constantly on respirators. The Doctor had expressed to her that its respiratory system was experiencing difficulty.  
  
"Yes," the Doctor answered, stopping his work to speak with her. This was unusual behavior from the EMH; he usually continued his work while having a discussion. Seven wondered what this meant.   
  
"Seven, the infant's systems are failing. There's nothing more I can do."   
  
Something seemed to squeeze Seven's chest like a giant fist. "Explain," she demanded.   
  
"No individual this young has ever been separated from the Collective. This infant would hardly be viable outside the womb if she *hadn't* been assimilated, and the cybernetic technology in her brain is causing shock. Then there's is the added complication of the Borg implants having to finish, shall we say, 'maturing' in her body--without the aid of a maturation chamber. The implants are adapting and advancing faster than her biological systems are developing, and I have no way of suppressing the implants' development.   
  
"Basically," he said, looking down at his patient, "removing the implants from her brain would kill her, but at the same time . . . the implants themselves are killing her."  
  
Seven looked down at the infant, as well. She tried to contain her human emotions, which were beginning to present themselves more and more often lately. She was now able to recognize them, however, and this made them less threatening to her composure. In her mind, she identified what she was feeling: helplessness, anxiety, compassion toward the infant. Compassion--it was such a useless emotion, was distracting from present issues; but she could not seem to extinguish it effectively.   
  
"Then she is not going to survive?" she said tightly, more a statement than a question.  
  
"I'm sorry, Seven. I know you feel responsible for the welfare of each of the Borg children."  
  
"My feelings are irrelevant," Seven blurted. "How long--" Her voice broke in that irritatingly human way, and she swallowed. "How long does the infant have to live?"  
  
The Doctor was looking at her, studying her, with a sympathetic expression on his holographic face. It was unnerving. "I'm really not sure," he admitted, and Seven knew it was difficult for him to admit uncertainty about anything. "Her body's systems are unstable, her blood-oxygen levels are fluctuating. I could probably prolong her life, but it would only delay the inevitable. I've disconnected all life support, Seven. She'll just slip away gradually."   
  
Seven nodded woodenly, still gazing down at the still form of the baby. Implants marred her soft, tiny face with garishly glinting metal. She was sleeping, but not peacefully as an infant should. Her mouth was open wide in an effort to get air. Her chest rose and fell irregularly, and now that both Seven and the Doctor had fallen silent, Seven could hear the infant's wheezing. Every breath was a struggle.   
  
The Doctor left the room shortly, wordlessly. Seven could not move away from the biobed, felt as helpless as she had once before, while watching the death of another Borg. One. The drone that had given his life for *Voyager.* But somehow, watching this infant's fitful sleep was more difficult to endure. Seven was uncertain why this was so.   
  
Abruptly, the infant's eyes opened, and she reached up her arms. Her wheezing grew louder. Seven thought that it would be best to summon the Doctor, but her voice was paralyzed. For the first time in her life, she knew what humans meant when they described themselves as "speechless."   
  
She carefully eased her arms beneath the infant's tense body and lifted it up from the biobed, then held it close to her own body. She knew that babies of many different races, not just humans, found consoling in being held, in physical contact.   
  
And somehow, holding the infant consoled her, as well.   
  
An hour later, the Doctor re-entered the room to find Seven of Nine still cradling the gasping baby. Just then, the baby reached up an open hand. Seven placed her finger into the hand, and it grasped her finger tightly.   
  
And then the baby stopped breathing. The little hand's grip relaxed, and as the EMH watched, unnoticed, Seven placed it back onto the biobed. Then she turned and saw him.   
  
"Doctor," Seven acknowledged, finding that her voice had returned.   
  
"Seven . . . you didn't have to put her down, you know. It's all right to hold her awhile longer."   
  
She frowned. "She is no longer in need of comfort."   
  
"Not to comfort *her* . . . to comfort *you*."   
  
Seven stepped away. "I am not in need of comfort, either." Quickly, she exited the sickbay, knowing that the Doctor was watching her leave. She realized as she walked briskly down the corridor that she was experiencing an unknown emotion. Her human eye was filling with a moisture that overflowed the socket and dripped down her cheek, leaving a wet path. Then she remembered. *Humans call them "tears."* 


End file.
